


peeping through the curtains (im sure theyre out to get me)

by auotn



Series: feral neil [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alive! Seth, Boxer! Neil, Fight Club - Freeform, Oh also, Sort of Brosten, Swearing, Well would you look at that, anger issues, blood mention, neil is mad, physical violence, still havent learned to tag, strip clubs, technically, this is betad, warning for poorly written fight scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auotn/pseuds/auotn
Summary: It wasn't an unusual thing for Neil, who claimed to go on runs at night, to return home at 2-3 in the morning looking like he just got thrown to hellhounds and had to crawl through a field of nails to get back.(or an au where neil is mad and needs an outlet)
Relationships: Matt Boyd & Neil Josten
Series: feral neil [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693663
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	peeping through the curtains (im sure theyre out to get me)

**Author's Note:**

> title from kelly green by tabby :)
> 
> thank you to mercury for editing this for me! i really really appreciate your help because sometimes im illiterate *sweats*
> 
> some things:  
> andrews meds were sorted out within the first year, so now theyre just regular ol' antidepressants. uh thats the only thing i can think
> 
> edit: knew i was missing something. seth is alive here

Matt Boyd was on the couch in the living room when he heard the lock click.

It wasn't an unusual thing for Neil, who claimed to go on runs at night, to return home at 2-3 in the morning looking like he just got thrown to hellhounds and had to crawl through a field of nails to get back. Okay, maybe not that bad, but he came back looking bad. Bruised knuckles and split lips: stuff like that. Matt had learned his lesson, though, when he prodded about it until Neil turned around and demonstrated an impressive right hook.

He stayed quiet as Neil slowly shut the door behind himself, kicking his beat up sneakers beside the others. He wiggled out of his thin, grey jacket and hung it up- proceeding to start making his way to the bathroom- presumably to clean up a nasty cut or bruise.

Neil didn't get the chance to do that, though, because Matt reached over and flicked on the lamp like a disappointed parent. As soon as the room was lit up, Neil tensed and snapped his head to look at Matt so fast he worried he'd get whiplash. His lip was split and he had a clot of dried blood on his forehead. His white shirt was stained red just over his abdomen, and his knuckles were already bruising. He could see a snarky comment building between the brunette’s lips, so he rushed his words out before Neil could speak.

“Neil, be honest with me. Are you in a gang?” Matt had had his suspicions for a while: he'd seen the way Neil was constantly looking over his shoulder, seen how he nursed wounds that looked too serious to be gained on a run, and had stumbled across the copious amount of money the small man had stashed in his duffel bag.

Neil stared at Matt for a while, scarily blank, before his lip quirked and a snort pushed out of his throat. The backliner watched as Neil kneeled over himself, cradling his stomach as he cried out of laughter. He forced a few confused laughs out of himself and prayed to whatever god out there that he wouldn't die tonight.

Neil eventually calmed down- red in the face as he wiped tears from his eyes. He squinted against watery eyes and looked at Matt, who was confused and scared beyond belief, and slowly shook his head.

“Matthew Donovan Boyd- that is the funniest thing anyone has asked me, and I've been asked if I think birds cry.” Neil said, crossing his arms over his chest. “No, I'm not in a gang. I go on runs, Matt. That's it.”

Matt hesitated before standing and slowly making his way over to the shorter man. “You sure buddy? I don't need to fight any gang leaders for you? Don't need me to pay off some lost drug debt?”

“Matt, I'm fine. I'm going to bed now.” Even so, Matt didn’t miss the way Neil’s shoulders tensed at the word debt. “Goodnight. I'll see you in the morning.

He was already in the bedroom when Matt finally managed to mutter, “Good lord, this kid's gonna be the death of me.”

Matt used the bathroom before he went to the bedroom; more for Neil than himself. He ignored the groggy Seth looking over at him from his side of the dorm, and crawled into bed under Neil- falling asleep with thoughts of the dangers his friend was putting himself through.

“Matt.”

A frustrated sigh.

“Matt, wake up.”

Matt cracked open an eye and found Seth leaning over his bed, breathing right in his face. He pushed it away and forced himself onto an elbow. “The fuck do you want, man? It's-” he looked at the clock, “12 in the morning. Are you fucking kidding me? After a game, too?”

“Get up and get dressed. You'll want to see this.” Seth moved away from his bed and walked out of the door into the living room. He didn't hear the front door open, so he assumed Seth was waiting for him.

It had been three weeks since his encounter with Neil. He still came back with bruises and cuts, but he smiled away Matt’s concern- or at least most of it. And sadly, he couldn't help but feel that that interaction had further wedged open the gap between them.

He pushed himself out of bed and stumbled over to his dresser, digging out a pair of grey pants. It was getting colder now that it was November, so he wouldn't wear his normal shorts to wherever they were going. He pushed his legs into the pants, pulling them up and buttoning them. Then, he walked to the door, picking up a shirt on his way.

Seth was alone in the living room, causing Matt to realize he hadn't seen Neil in his bed while he was getting ready. Seth looked up as Matt shuffled further into the room.

“Finally,” the man groaned, picking up his ring of keys. “Come on, we have to get there before it closes.”

Matt sighed, following his friend out of the door after he slipped his crocs on. “This better be good, Seth.”

“Trust me, it will be.”

Seth insisted they walk to the place, since it was only a few blocks away, but good lord if the air wasn't chilly. They had walked for maybe twenty minutes before Seth stopped in front of a club called Kitties Kastle. _Kitties. Kastle._

“Seth.” Matt said, incredulous.

“Matt.” Seth responded, ignoring the backliner’s disbelief.

“This is a _strip club_. You brought me to a _strip club_ , on a _game night_ , at _12 in the fucking morning_.” Matt fumed, glaring into the side of Seth’s head.

“Not here for the strippers, Matt. Come on.” Seth nudged Matt as he started walking, prompting Matt to follow.

They pushed through the crowd and to the bar, where a barely dressed woman with thick dreadlocks was serving drinks. She looked up at their arrival and held a finger up, finished up the drink she was making, slid it across the bar to a scruffy looking man, and finally turned her attention back to them.

“What can I get you?” she asked, voice sultry.

“One Kitties Krown on the rocks whiskey main, please.” Seth said, throwing a glance over his shoulder, most likely to ensure that Matt was still there.

The lady eyed the two up and down, an intrigued look washing over her face. “Follow me, sweethearts.” She called something to the other bartender before making her way to the crowded side of the bar, waving at them over her shoulder. Seth nudged him again before following her.

 _Dear Lord, if this man is gonna hook up with this lady while I'm here, please forgive me for committing murder_. Matt prayed, casting his glance up for a moment, before following Seth and the bartender down the dimly lit, oily looking stairs. A chill crawled up his spine, making him shiver. He could still hear the music and commotion from upstairs even though the door had been pushed closed by moving bodies.

The bartender flipped her dreads over her shoulder as she waited at the bottom of the stairs for the two men before knocking on the door. A little sliding window shifted open- giving Matt some secret mission vibe- and a beard greeted the three of them. The man crouched, flashing a bald head and serious eyes. The eyebrow he raised was a question and a demand all in one. The lady leaned forward and whispered something, prompting a nod out of the man on the other side. The window slid back shut and there was a barely audible click before the door was opening and a new type of commotion greeted Matt.

The bass in the rap music playing over the speakers made the floors thrum, shaking the glasses of water that a few skimpily dressed men were catering. They were dressed in shorts so short and so tight that they may as well have been boxer briefs. Matt averted his eyes and continued to look around the dimly lit room.

In the middle was a boxing ring, holding two people duking it out with what looked like no limitations. They weren't wearing gloves, and their fists were barely wrapped, leaving bloody marks on the other's face as they made contact. The two in the ring were taking swing after swing at each other- most connecting. Matt felt his heartbeat throb in his throat, but he swallowed it down.

He'd been apart of this once upon a time; the thrill of fighting someone with no rules other than no weapons: only fists. The music was making his chest vibrate, and Matt’s body only responded by inhaling. Exhaling. Smelling the sweat in the air.

Seth knocked him out of his revere with a gentle push to the side of his head. “Look closer, Matt." Seth said, gesturing at the two going at it still.

Matt squinted at the two in the almost orange light, trying to figure out what Seth was talking about, and then he saw it and felt his hot blood chill.

Neil fucking Josten was currently beating the shit out of a tall blond. The latter looked way worse for the wear than Neil did- thank God, but he was still getting plenty of blows in. Where the blonde was stripped down to his shorts, Neil was wearing a tight fitting tank top; which Matt didn't understand until he saw the perfect iron print on Neil’s shoulder and caught a glimpse of an odd shaped circle before it was hidden away.

Matt swallowed away the tension in his throat and turned his gaze to Seth, who was already looking at him.

“That's Neil.” Matt said, still shell shocked. “Neil, as in tiny, pissy Neil, who gets angry at me for touching his quesadilla. Neil Josten. That's Neil Josten, Seth, what the fuck.”

“I know, man, that's why I brought you here. Thought you'd want to see it.” Seth turned back to the fight, where Neil just delivered the finishing blow to the other man. The man slumped to the ground, leaving Neil standing alone, flashing his bloodied teeth in a victorious grin.

Seth turned back to him, a challenge dancing in his eyes. “Matt,” he said seriously. “I want you to sign up tonight and fight him.”

“You can't be serious, Seth.”

“Dead serious.” Seth deadpanned.

“Seth.”

“I'll give you $100 and convince Neil to leave the dorm so you and Dan can have it to yourselves.”

Well _fuck_.

A lady had come up to Neil, grasping his wrist and throwing it up high. The people around them screamed, and Neil grinned harder- sharp as a knife.

“Do we have any other contestants?” the lady asked in an announcer type voice. “Final fight of the night; don't waste the opportunity, folks. The pot is still at $500.”

Neil’s eyes scanned the crowd, viciously smug, looking for the awaiting competition. A few moments passed and his eyes scrunched in what Matt perceived as joy. He _really_ didn't want to do this, but an empty dorm was an empty dorm.

He turned to Seth again. “I didn't bring any shorts to box in.”

Seth held a wad of cloth out, a knowing look on his face. “They give out wrap for your hands. Strip unless you want layers up there while you're boxing.”

A sigh leaked out of Matt’s nose, and against his better judgement, looked up at Neil once more before he started stripping. The issue was that Neil had eyes on the two of them, face as red as a tomato. Matt swallowed and barely heard Seth announce something that made Neil’s face harden even more. He could smell his doom and the metaphorical steam coming out of the other’s ears.

By the time Matt had managed to shimmy into the shorts, someone had approached to powder and wrap his hands. He saw their eyes linger on the track marks on his arms before they continued to wordlessly wrap the bandages around his knuckles. Before he knew it, he was in front of a tense Neil.

“Matthew Donovan Boyd- you are a dead man,” Neil hissed, fists clenching tighter.

“I know.” Matt replied weakly.

“Ready,” the announcer drawled, carrying it out for a few beats before the bass conveniently dropped in the song, and shouted, “Go!”

Neil was on him faster than a fly on a dead fox, wherein the fox was Matt.

For such a tiny body, Neil’s punches and kicks hurt like _hell_. Matt blocked what he could, threw a few punches of his own, thought he was in the clear, and was ultimately hit with a new barrage of fists and fury.

Matt swung out wildly, desperate to get at _least_ one good hit in, and connected with the side of Neil’s head. Usually, a hit like that would knock someone unconscious or make them tumble to the floor and space out for a bit, but Neil merely stumbled, shook the daze out of his head before it could swamp him, and glared at Matt like he'd kicked his puppy or something. Neil charged Matt, who prepared to flip him off, and leaped at him before he could process what was happening.

Neil swung around Matt like he was a pole and wrapped his arms around his neck, kicking his knees in so he'd fall down. Matt, whose face was pressed into the mat a second later, spit out a glob of blood that had gathered in his mouth.

The announcer shouted at the end of the match, pulling Neil off of Matt, who was gathered up by Seth and ushered off to the side. Seth handed him a bag of ice, which he pressed to his ribs, where most of Neil’s hits landed. 

“I'll give you the money when we get back to the dorm.” Seth said, holding a stack of neatly folded clothes.

“Fuck you.” Matt crowed, hunched in on himself.

Seth scoffed while Matt looked up at the stage where Neil was being handed a huge pile of cash. He could see the tight clench of his jaw as he flipped through the cash, fiery gaze flickering back to the two of them. His nostrils flared before he was moving towards them, stained knuckles white where they were clenched around the stack of money.

Seth opened his mouth to say something to Neil, but was promptly cut off by a fist whipping out towards his jaw. He didn't flinch away from it, so his head snapped to the right with the force of the punch. Matt could only stare and pray that Neil didn't come after him, too.

“Stay the fuck out of my buisness, Gordon.” Neil snapped, not even phased by the new split in his knuckle. “I told you last time to never come back here, and you came back with _Matt_.”

“Cool it, Josten.” Seth said smoothly, massaging his jaw. “I'm not very scared by empty threats. Maybe you should have taught me a lesson.” The last bit was said as a blatant taunt that had Matt on edge.

“Leave. _Right. Now._ ” Neil growled, trembling with what was probably the strain of keeping himself back.

“Fine, fine.” Seth said, eyeballing Neil. “We'll leave. Can we expect you back to the dorm tonight?”

Neil’s silence was an answer of it's own.

Seth shrugged, nudging Matt. “C’mon, man.”

Seth left without checking that Matt was following him, giving Matt a few seconds to hesitate in front of Neil. The shorter man only glared, shoulders drawn nearly up to his ears. Neither of them said anything, silence settling between them, before Matt nodded slightly and trailed after Seth. He didn't look over his shoulder, even as they walked up the stairs, through the bar, and back down the street.

Matt hadn't said anything, and neither had Seth, merely walked back to the Tower along Perimeter Road, late at night after a game. Granted, the two were bearing a few more injuries than they had been _before_ they visited the club. He didn't really expect Seth to say anything, but he wasn't shocked.

“That's where he's been going, Matt.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Matt grumbled in reply, trailing Seth up the stairs to the dorm.

They didn't speak, even as they traded places in the shower and readied for bed-- again. Then, they went to bed without a second glance at each other.

When Neil comes stumbling onto court decked in armor and a shit ton of bruises three days after he's gone missing, Andrew is surprised; for lack of a better word. Really, he just felt a flash of it before it was squashed down by the familiar presence of apathy, which was more than he usually felt. He'd honestly expected the rabbit to run off; disappear like he's been saying he wants to. Apparently, he just needed a break.

Andrew watched as Boyd moved to greet Neil, but hesitated when Neil glared daggers into the tall backliner. He didn't say anything to Gordon, either, as he settled into position beside him.

“Where the hell have you been, Josten?” Wilds demanded as she straightened up. She made her way over to the small striker and nudged him lightly with the tip of her toe, oblivious to the way Neil’s shoulders rose just slightly.

“My uncle came into town. He wanted to see me.” The lie on Neil's lips stunk, and Andrew could smell it from where he stood in the goal.

“Let us know next time, rookie. Had us worried.” Wilds chuckled lightly and didn't notice the scoff that puffed out of Gordon’s lips.

Wymack pounded on the glass from the inner ring, a disgruntled expression dancing across his face. It spoke for itself: told them to get on with it.

So, Wilds dealt the ball and the scrimmage began. They went hard- Andrew even pitching in just a few times to block one or two balls that Gordon or Neil threw at him. They went and went and went, until suddenly, Neil had Gordon pressed against the wall, whispering angry words in his face. Seth's laugh barked through the court as Wilds called practice to a halt just in time to hear the tall striker's string of words.

“Don't see why you're all upset, Josten. What's one secret out of all the ones you're hidin’?” The taunting lilt seemed to make Neil even angrier, because he slammed the taller man against the glass again.

“Stay the _fuck_ out of my business, Gordon, or you sure are going to regret ever going there,” Neil snarled, snatching Gordon’s, followed by his own, helmet off.

“Woah, woah.” Reynolds said as she approached the two. “Let's not get testy, Neil.”

“What, you don't want these fuckers knowing what you do in your spare time? Don't want them to know what really happens on your runs?” Gordon was looking more and more smug with each passing second, and Andrew made his approach, taking up the rear of the slowly descending group.

“Hold your fucking tongue, Seth.” Neil growled.

“Seth.” Boyd said, weary.

Gordon laughed bitterly. “You don't want them to know you get your ass kicked at a fight club, Neil? You talk such big shit there, you oughta flaunt it here, too.”

Gordon’s head flung with the force of Neil’s punch.

The team exploded while Andrew pushed through them, only Kevin and Boyd leaping out of the crowd to pull Neil off of Gordon.

“Get your hands off of me, Matt, or we'll have a replay of friday,” Neil howled, limbs flailing as he tried to escape the backliner's restrictive hold. Boyd flinched and dropped Neil, who wheeled around and took a defensive stance.

“Josten, what the hell does he mean by fight club?” Wymack, who had come onto court amongst the ruckus, asked.

“Just that, Coach.” Gordon sneered, wiping at his flushed face. “He goes to a fight club every few days. Ever wonder why he's all bruised up after his bullshit 'runs'? Bet the fucker doesn't even go on runs.”

“Shut your whore mouth, Gordon.” Neil sounded like a feral dog at this point, and Andrew was readying to step in when Kevin opened _his_ whore mouth.

“You shouldn't get distracted by anything other than exy, Neil.” Kevin nagged from where he stood beside Boyd. “You won't make court if you keep distracting yourself with useless things like fighting. You should put more of that time into night practi-”

“ _You won't make court if you keep distracting yourself_ ,” Neil mimicked, interrupting him, his voice insultingly high. “Shut the fuck up and keep your nose out of my business.” He said this with a sweeping glare, landing on everyone for at least a millisecond. “ _I_ choose what _I_ want to do with _my_ spare time, Day. So if I want to go out and fuck someone up, I'll do just that while you sit in your dorm, drowning in pity and vodka and exy.

“Just because I have a life outside of exy doesn't mean you get to push your sorrows onto me. Find someone else to whine to, because I'm taking it back.” Neil finished, fists clenching and unclenching by his side. The team, apart from Andrew and Kevin, didn't know what Neil had meant by the last part as they stared the happenings down with confusion. But Kevin, oh dear Kevin, seemed to be seething, and if Andrew hadn't gotten put on the right meds already, he'd be laughing his damn ass off.

But, before Kevin could explode and get his head taken off by an equally mad Neil, Wymack stepped in with a withering glare and tense shoulders. “All of you,” he spoke, voice like thunder, “In the lounge, _right now_. Don't even bother undressing, because as soon as I'm done tearing into the lot of you, you're running drills until you're swallowed by your sweat.” When nobody moved, he tacked on a booming, “Go!” That had everyone, except for Andrew, scampering off towards the locker room.

Andrew couldn't believe he'd gotten himself signed up for this two months ago when he'd taken Neil to Eden’s and deemed him worthy of protection.

But here he was.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you again to mercury for editing/betaing/proofing this for me! :) they were a big help, so give them some love, too  
> you can give them a look or two on here at leloqier. ill even link it to make it easy for you ;)  
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leloqier/pseuds/Leloqier


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